


D-Man Special

by garden of succulents (staranise)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Fuckbuddies, M/M, Multi, Nonromantic sex, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 23:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7661080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staranise/pseuds/garden%20of%20succulents
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that she has a solid three-season shutout she’s pressed close to Ransom’s warm and beautifully muscular body, and Holster looks endearingly disarmed, and, well.  She knows what the Samwell D-man special is.  She’s arranged hotel rooms around it.  And she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t thought about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	D-Man Special

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Tumblr [here](http://des-zimbits.tumblr.com/post/144326052801/good-friends-share-pornyplatonically-intimate#tumblr_notes) in response to a prompt by Stultiloquentia, who wrote [Tensionamento](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7372180) (Jack giving Lardo a platonic massage) in return.

Despite Holster’s insistence that he is going to grow his hair out _forever_  until he looks like Robert Redford in _Jeremiah Johnson_ , Lardo cuts it for him in the attic the week after the Frozen Four.  They’re all trying to make it a lighthearted event, Ransom lying on Holster’s bed suggesting patterns Lardo should buzz into his scalp, Holster sitting on a mat of spread-out newspaper.  Lardo’s collected her last paycheck as team manager and Ransom is interviewing with med schools; they’re graduating next month.

She wishes a lot of things.  She wishes Shitty had his shit sorted out; she wishes her circle of queer art friends hadn’t all slept with each other so much you couldn’t even offer someone a handful of Skittles without kicking off fresh drama.  She wishes moving on with her life didn’t involve leaving this house.  (She’s so fucking ready to leave this house and never share a refrigerator with anybody else ever again)  When she’s finished the cut she ruffles Holster’s hair to get the fluff out of it, purses her lips to blow the fallen fuzz from her precision trims off the tips of his ears.

It makes him blush and squirm and duck his head, so she does it again and he covers his ears with his hands.  “Yeah, those are mad sensitive,” Ransom says, grinning.  “Don’t start what you can’t finish, Lards.”

Lardo cackles, using brisk motions of her hands to sweep the hair fluff off the back of Holster’s neck and off his back and arms.  “Haircuts are my best seduction technique,” she jokes.  “Your dry spell is over, I brought out the clippers.”

“Don’t be mean to me,” Holster whines, still protecting his ears.

“Too bad for you I came up here for the other guy,” she says, grinning, as she climbs to her feet, giving Ransom a hip-cock and a cheesy finger gun and click combo.  

“Oh baby,” he says, and opens his arms.  She does a kind of theatrical swan-dive flop into him and lays one on him, which turns out unexpectedly to be a _really_  nice kiss.

Like, _really_  nice.  “Guys?” Holster says, turning around to look at them.  “Guys?  …Seriously?”

Lardo pulls back and considers Ransom.  He’s grinning at her, at Holster.  She looks at Holster too, who is looking suddenly equal parts aroused and uncomfortable.

“Is there, uh,” he says, trying for dignity, “something you guys want to tell me?”

“What, no,” Ransom says, trying to fight down the grin and look serious.  “She started it, Holtzy.  I was just an innocent bystander.”  He turns to consider Lardo.  “I mean, be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it, though.”

She can feel his nascent erection against her stomach where she’s lying against him, and she… thinks about it.  Her entire tenure as Samwell Men’s Hockey Team Manager she has avoided having sex with even one single solitary hockey player, Shitty having come before she got that job.  It’s been a kind of weird inverted freedom, her relationships with women thick with lust and tension and her friendships with hockey bros blessedly free of them.  She’s been in the eye of the storm while the hookups and breakups happen around her in this house, and while it’s been a little lonely it’s been liberating too.

But now that she has a solid three-season shutout she’s pressed close to Ransom’s warm and beautifully muscular body and liking it a surprising amount and instead of that myopic leer Holster thinks is sexy he looks endearingly disarmed and, well.  She knows what the Samwell D-man special is.  She’s arranged hotel rooms around it.  And she’d be lying if she said she hasn’t thought about it.

She leans over Ransom to crook a finger to beckon Holster over, and he stares at her.  Ransom says, “Wait, _seriously?_ No, _seriously?“_

She kisses him again, quite seriously, then looks back up and leans over to beckon to Holster again.  Ransom steadies her with a hand on her collarbone as Holster crawls towards the bed and kisses her fervently.  He kind of stares at her and reverently says: _“Bro.”_

Then he stops, scrunches his nose and scrubs hair-fluff off his face, and pulls off his shirt before climbing over them into bed so he’s on the far side of the wall.

They definitely have their shit down.  She’s got them on either side, making out with her like champs, and instead of reaching under her clothes they pay attention to the skin she has available, nuzzling her arms and kissing her shoulders, kneading her lower thighs.  Holster wraps around her like a teddy bear while she plants her hands on Ransom’s marble abs and gets wet from just exploring his mouth.  She’s ready to give testimonials.   _Justin Oluransi: One hell of a kisser._

At one point Ransom takes his shirt off and after she’s made a couple exploratory surveys she figures she’ll reciprocate and begins peeling off her own.  Before she has to worry about smacking someone in the face with an elbow they take over for her, rolling it up her torso and over her outstretched arms, crowding her and brushing hands over her stomach and kissing her spine.  She just waves a hand back at her bra closure and says, “Can you–?” and Holster flicks it open with an ease that _is_  appallingly sexy.  Ransom eases the bra off her shoulders and says, “Duan.   _Nice.”_

They’re small breasts, okay, and they’re not bad, but they feel nice and Ransom is seriously appreciative, kissing and licking them between Holster’s fingers, making little noises between kissing and pants. Holster’s burying his face in her shoulder and at one point Ransom fixes on to Holster’s fingers, suckling two of them with a needy desperate look, and Holster groans and clutches Lardo tighter.

She opens the button on her shorts when they’re distracted because she wants in on that action, but waits until they’ve had their moment to say, “Birkholtz, do something for me.”

“Yeah?” he says, rough-voiced.  She takes his hand and puts it on her ass, his thumb on the waistband of her shorts, and slides his hand down.  He gets the shorts down, off her legs; as he’s navigating the ankles she looks up at Ransom, whom she doesn’t even have to ask.  He hooks his fingers in her boyshorts and pulls them down, until she can kick them off and spread her legs; then he glides his nose down the inside of her thigh and settles his mouth on her cunt.

It’s really hard to stay cool and unaffected when he’s _that_  good, sloppy and messy with sudden unpredictable flashes of hard, deft tongue.  Holster nuzzles and kisses at her neck and jaw. lazily caresses her breasts.

The D-men settle in for a siege, artfully unhurried at first and then fucking ruthless when Ransom doesn’t stop after her first orgasm, when Holster crowds her mouth as she starts getting close again, grinning at her when she clings and wails and screams, and then she lets them push her to a third.

“You guys are maniacs,” she pants, limbs trembling too fiercely to try to move anywhere.  They high-five each other; of course they do.  Holster rolls over in a smooth and flawless dive and gives Ransom a blow job that looks practiced and obscenely knowledgeable; Lardo props her head to the side, charmed and exhausted, and watches Ransom ride the edge of the swell, his mouth open and his breath coming fast. After he comes he covers his face with his hands and then muffles it against Lardo’s shoulder.  She awkwardly pats his head with one wobbly arm.

“Aw, you _guys,”_ Holster says fondly, depositing himself on top of them like a puppy pile, smacking kisses right and left to Ransom’s temple and Lardo’s nose.  He looks very pleased with himself.

“Yeah, scrapbook moment,” Ransom says, deadpan and muffled.

“I’m with my favourite people,” Holster confides to Lardo.  They lie like that for a while, collapsed and pleasantly sticky.  After a while she reaches out lightly with her fingertips and begins to trace the shells of Holster’s ears.

He flushes, face half-buried against her arm; when she rubs his earlobe thoughtfully between her fingers he groans and buries it for good.  “Do you think, uh,” he says.

“Mr. Birkholtz,” she says, a thread of the southern belle in her voice, “are you asking if you can have vaginal intercourse with me?”

Oh.  Shit.  Okay.  That myopic leer is actually kind of breathtakingly sexy, especially when he’s pressing his head into her hand and kissing the ball of her thumb.

A short amount of stage management later Holster is sitting on the side of the bed, holding her in his lap; she has her knees on the mattress under her, his chest pressed against his back, her arms reaching back to drag her palms across his scalp and face.  He can adjust her, rearrange her, lift her up, with a casual ease that she frankly loves and that has featured in the vast majority of her unrealized fantasies about the hockey team.  When she lifts herself up on her knees he maneuvers his cock out, but Ransom, lying diagonally behind them, is the one to reach his hand out and hold it gently in place for her to grind down onto, to deftly part her labia to make the process easier.

While she pants and groans with the effort of letting that enormous blunt head inside her, Holster’s running his hands up and down her body, hips and stomach and breasts, kissing the length of her arms, breathing disbelieving prayers into her hair.  “Jesus,” she says, hips flexing, eyes watering from the size of him.  “Your dick is unreasonably enormous, you know that?”

“Got you,” Ransom says, and slides off the bed.  He kneels in front of them, wraps his arms around her waist, presses kisses low on her stomach; then, with infinite delicacy so as not to break the pose she and Holster have established, he reaches in and bends his head to lay his mouth against her clit.

Her mouth falls open, head falls back, and Holster laughs into the side of her neck.  Ransom’s tongue swips across her and her hips jerk; she shudders under their arms, twisting but not coming free, and she shudders again.  The head of Holster’s cock slides in with unbelievable ease, a couple inches in until she feels absolutely stuffed, and she gasps raggedly.

“God,” she moans, one hand reverently touching Ransom’s head, so desirous of his mouth that almost everything else in the world melts away; Holster rolls his hips and the noise she makes is so, so loud.  He steadies her shoulders, kisses her neck up and down, while Ransom’s fingers knead her buttocks.  She takes in a shaking breath, salt water running down her cheeks, and shifts her legs, beginning to rock up and down onto Holster’s cock.

Every tiny movement dips her further onto Ransom’s tongue, and as she moves she finds Holster’s hands moving across her breasts like water.  “I–” she says, brokenly.  “I want–”

“Here,” Ransom says, “let’s move.”  He gestures to Holster and they break apart, Ransom moving away and Lardo half lifting herself, half lifted, off of Holster.  She sits on the side of the bed for a minute just to catch her breath, while Ransom stands up and steals pillows from the bed above.  He and Holster make a heap in the middle of the bed, and when they try to get her to move she somehow communicates through gesture that they should just move her, so they do; Ransom takes her shoulders and Holster takes her knees and they fling her onto the pile of pillows.  For her ravishment, she thinks, giggly and lustful.  The pillows cant her hips up so they’re higher than her shoulders, so high it almost feels like she’s falling, vertiginous and out of control.  “Okay?” Holster says, swimming into her vision.

“Come at me,” she rasps, and opens her arms to welcome Ransom.  Welcome him into her bosom, onto her breasts, because he’s started to establish that she’s secretly an absolute sucker for tiny nips of teeth and thumbnail, and meanwhile she can’t see but her other hand has been successful in bringing Holster closer because his cock is back and thrusting into her, and she’s abruptly full, a little bit past the point that she took him earlier, a tiny edge of burn and almost as far in as she wants him to be.  She finds herself clutching Ransom and leaving little fingernail impressions in his shoulders.

With her hips up she can lean her thighs against Holster’s abdomen, and the stretch of opening them lazy and elastic; as he slowly worms his way in, tiny movements of hips and his hands liberally playing across her vulva, every little bit her legs fall open is inviting him deeper, even though in this position she could just pull her knees to his chest and let him in that way.  On second thought… with a little bit of drunken coordination she can pull one leg back, hook her knee around his elbow, and he gets the idea.  This way he can roll her hips up even further, fuck straight to the sensitive spot at front of her vaginal wall, his hands and Ransom’s driving her mad playing with her clit.

“Okay,” she says, “Harder.  More.”

She has to repeat it a few times, rev up the engine, from that initial gentlemanly rocking to the thrusts that make her ride up the bed, make her have to reach up and brace against the headboard, make Holster have to pull her hips back toward him as a constant battle as he fucks her hard, and fast, and almost fucking long enough.  “Jesus,” he says reverently after he orgasms.

“Okay, honeyboy,” she says, knocking his shoulder.  He pulls out and rolls to the side, frankly wheezing.  She looks over at Ransom, who grins back at her wickedly.  “You ready, tiger?” she says.  He, meanwhile, is already extracting a condom from the box.

Ransom fucks as well as he does pretty much _everything else_ , and when she’s come and he’s come she keeps her legs wrapped around his waist because she doesn’t want it to fucking end.

“Oh good god,” she says muzzily, when they’re all just lying there in a dazed stupor.  “Are you boys always this good, or was this a special performance for me?  I think I’d have heard if you’re like this all the time.”

“Aw, thank you,” Holster says, nuzzling in to press a kiss on her cheek.  “You were pretty much perfect.”

“’Course you’re special, Lards,” Ransom adds.  “Nothing but the best for you.”

Lardo stares up at the bottom of the bunk bed and puts her arms around both of them.  “Love you guys too,” she says.

“Mm-hm,” Holster says.  She knows him and becomes direly suspicious that he’s about to fall asleep with his head on her shoulder, and will drool into her armpit posthaste.

On the other hand, on this occasion?  She’s kind of tempted to let him.


End file.
